Choosy Mutants Choose Jif
by Kellie Packers
Summary: Useless oneshot. Max sees a peanut butter commercial with herself on it, and dwells upon it. First FanFic, go nice please :D


1**Choosy Mutants Choose Jif**

_This is my first FanFic, hope you like it.—Kellie_

Let me start this off by telling you that Motel 6 is probably one of the most run-down motels in the business, okay? Just so you can see where I'm coming from: there's mold in the sink, the refrigerator is busted, and the bathroom is haunted. All of the kids are asleep, Fang's attempting to take a shower, and I'm sitting on the grimy couch, trying to watch TV without puking my guts up.

But, anyway.

TV is nothing these days. There are so many outrageous commercials that I wonder _why _people buy brand name products in the first place. Why not when you're shopping, just buy the cheapest thing? That's what we have to do all the time. Either that our we scrounge up food from garbage cans, and I'm fine and dandy with doing that all the same.

On the couch I sat, fidgeting and trying to get comfortable without infesting myself with a disease or two. Iggy had rewired the washing machine and cleaned it out, and we washed all of the sheets and blankets before I put the kids to sleep. Their beds smelled like Febreze, and the couch smelled like something that needed to be buried and given a tombstone.

And yet, what d'ya know, I took it. We needed some place to stay and we hadn't found an ATM in a while, so I couldn't take money out of the Maximum Ride account. You know me, Ms. Takes-What-She-Gets.

Another commercial flashed, sporting a little girl with cute brown curls and amazing teal eyes. In her hand was a light brown colored plastic jar with red, green and blue on it. 'Jif' was in white on the jar, and the little girl was toddling around, laughing. _Choosy moms—and kids—choose Jif._

Despite the terrible condition the hotel was in, they were up-to-date on their cable. TiVo was installed, and I felt like fast forwarding to continue watching _Heroes_. But the girl's eyes caught me, and I paused the TV and dropped the remote so fast you'd think my life depended on it.

I snatched a mirror off of one of the ugly wallpapered walls, comparing my own eyes to those of the little girl. Then our hair, our complexion, the birthmark right next to our ear—identical, except that my features were older.

_The girl was me!_

Surprise dawned on me so quickly that I actually stumbled back, tripping on an invisible wire that connected me to the girl on the TV. _Impossible! _The word ripped through my mind like a piece of paper being torn by two four-year-olds. _I don't have a twin... she has my birthmark! Her eyes are the same as mine... but where do the wings come in?_

Everywhere I looked, the girl turned around, and there were _no wings_. She had a small top on—a baby half-top—and there were no oversized wings protruding from the shirt. No matter how I added it up, it still made no sense; that girl _couldn't _be me!

_But she has to be. _Even Max II didn't have that birthmark, and that hair and those weird-ass teal eyes were trademark _mine. _Max II's eyes weren't as vibrant and creepy as mine. Her hair wasn't the exact color as mine. They were close, but they weren't pinpoint _exact_.

My hand reached out for the remote, and my head almost popped out of place when I spun around and didn't see it there. Then I saw Fang holding onto it, ready to change the channel, but his dark eyes were fixed on the girl—_me—_on the monitor.

"...Max?" His voice was as disbelieving as it can get. "Is that—when did you—where are your—is that—_what the hell_?" he stuttered, still not moving. He blinked once and repeated half of a sentence again: "Is that—" Then he paused, and his face twisted every what way to try and hide laughter. "Jif?"

My hand reached up to slap him, but something stopped it. "_Focus_!Fang, that's _me _on the commercial! I'm the Jif girl! Look at the birthmark—the eyes—the hair—that's _me_!" I couldn't believe my own words, but who's to blame?

"I don't get it. Why would they be showing this commercial if now you're fourteen, and you look four in that commercial?" Fang never admitted to not getting something, but I don't think he really classified this as something to think back on.

Fang hit play, and the commercial went off and a post-commercial thing popped up. _"Remember these old commercials? Name the year it came out and we'll give you a free sample of the product you've just seen!"_

"That's helpful." I said distractedly. Then, shaking my head, I turned back to him: "Fang! Seriously, pay attention here. That is me. That girl is me. Right there—I mean, we can even ask Ig, that's one of the last times he saw me before he went blind, when I was four. He could probably explain it. My hair is curly, just like it was back then. But why would Jeb ever bring me to a commercial shoot? Where are my wings?"

His eyes squinted at the television, trying to make sense of the commercial. "Hm... I don't—...hmm..." He looked up at me, determination clearly on his face. "Maybe there's a girl that looks just like you? Hey, who's to know—maybe you had an identical twin before Jeb stole you. I don't think that's you, Max."

"_FANG!_" I hollered, not caring the slightest bit about the sleeping kids two rooms over. "The birthmark, genius! Twins don't have identical birthmarks. I'm sorry, but they just _don't_!" Studying him, I asked him a simple question. "Are you even on my team with this?"

"Yeah, I am; I'm just trying to make sense of it, too." He shrugged. "Why do you care, Max? It's just a commercial. From ten years ago. That has a girl—possibly you—on it. What's the big deal? Let's just forget it ever happened."

For once, Fang's words shocked me. "Fang, are you _nuts_? That's me, and I don't have wings! We all know that we were injected with God-know's-what _before _we were born, so how could that happen?" I rewound the TV and paused on where the birthmark was, running my hand over my own. "The only possibility is that they put the wings on my _after _I was born—but how?"

Fang groaned and retired next to me. "Max, _get over it_. You're just like us, okay? You're exactly the same. Maybe he just hid the wings somehow. Maybe he took them off and then sewed them back on. It was ten years ago. We were at the School. Do you really think Iggy wants to think back then? None of us want to relive those years. Plus, none of the kids will remember, anyway. Nudge was one, and Gazzy and Angel weren't even alive yet."

His dark eyes went from my birthmark, to my eyes, to my hair. "She's you, all right, but she's a different you. You're wiser now, older, more experienced. Plus, you've got loads more pressure on your shoulders than you did when you were four. She might be you, but, when you really think about it, she's a completely different Max. She's like... Maxine. Not Maximum."

Fang's speech was just Jim Dandy, but I honestly wanted to solve this. "_Faaaaaang,_" I whined, staring at him, "What does this mean? Is this Max II? Max II doesn't even have the birthmark. Max II wasn't alive back then. Am I really Maximum Ride? Is she a clone? A better clone? Am _I _a clone of _her_?"

"Max!" Fang shouted sternly, "You're getting all technical again!"

"Okay, Fang. Want me to get un-technical with you? Want me to go easy on you so you can understand? All right, I'll ask an idiot-proof question, one that even _you _can answer." My patience was going right down the chute with him, and I wanted some replies. "Why Jif? Why not Nutter Butter?"

Fang smiled, and in a talk-show host tone, said, "Choosy moms—and mutants—choose Jif."

_Hey guys. It's Kellie. I just wanted to introduce myself here. Well, I'm twelve, just like Step On Me (we actually have a lot in common - we met when I first signed on fictionpress) (she's one of my bestest pals!). It's odd how much alike we are, but I guess you could say that I'm much less of an optimist than Steph is._

_I hope you liked it, but don't keep an eye out for more of me - I've got a life too, guys._

_-Kel_


End file.
